Seeing Red
by rileyonline
Summary: DH SPOILERS! George's revenge. What could have happened in the book. R&R!


**Disclaimer: Nope, all belongs to JK!**

**(A/N) Basically I was annoyed when George's grief got TWO LINES in the DH. Then I started writing this – and I've kinda realised **_**why**_** JK didn't write it. **

George was kneeling on the floor in the Great Hall, staring at the body in front of him. His family was surrounding the body too, he knew. All of them were crying, sobbing even. Grieving for the person in front of him. All, of course, except him.

He knew he was shaking, but no tears came to his eyes. They were dry and scratchy from the clouds of debris that seemed to circulate all throughout Hogwarts. He glanced now and then at his mother, who was sobbing into his brother's chest with a passion that both alarmed and upset him. The sight of his mother's agony alone was enough to make him want to cry and scream and shout.

But he couldn't. He wanted to – oh _Merlin_ he really wanted to – but he couldn't. For the pain was numb. It was nothing, he knew it was there, he knew that his brother's death was affecting him, but he couldn't show it. The worst thing about it was that his identical twin brother was dead… and he couldn't feel a thing. As though his emotions had died along with Fred.

He looked away from the horrific sight, and suddenly his gaze rested on the Patil twins. One of whom, Parvati, was lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. He looked at Parvati's twin, Padma, who was kneeling beside Parvati, acting sentry to her sister, one hand holding a cloth and dabbing her sister's forehead with a fond caress. Her eyes seemed to be made of stone; all essence of emotion, of hope was gone, to be replaced by a horrid haunted stare. But it wasn't any of these things that struck George most. It was the fact that both twins were, in fact, alive, and together.

But Fred wasn't with him. His twin wasn't there, his living, breathing mirror had smashed into pieces, and alike the children's rhyme, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Fred back together again. But the other half was still alive. Only half the egg had smashed, and the other was still sitting, watching, waiting, on top of the wall. With no chance of falling off it any time soon.

"George?" He blinked, and looked around to see Lee standing there. "It's time to go, mate."

George looked at him, then looked down at Fred, and a flood of memories engulfed him. The many, _many_ times he and Fred (and less often, Lee) had laughed together – the pranks they had pulled – the day they had outwitted Umbridge – the many times they had outwitted Filch – the creating of their ingenious inventions – the day they opened their shop. Then, the image of Fred lying in front of him came, and George finally found that his eyes were burning.

"I can't do this." He said, his voice impossibly hoarse, weak and high-pitched,

"Yes you can." Lee said gently, "We're all here." George visibly tensed up at that, and his voice came back full force.

"But you're not _Fred_, Lee!" He shouted hoarsely, he wanted to get that clear; no one would ever possibly, _ever_ replace his twin. His best friend. "Without him, I don't even make _sense_."

That was the pure, blindingly, excruciatingly painful truth about it. Fred was his twin, he had felt it wasn't possible that they could be separated, that they could die, that they could enter the next life, one without the other. But it had happened, and nothing, _nothing_ would ever bring Fred back to life. Back to the world.

Back to _him_.

His ears started to burn… and the remaining half of the egg started to crack.

He stood up, shaking, his hands curling into fists as he tried to stop the tidal waves of emotion drowning him.

"George?" Lee asked, suddenly fearful of the man he had known since childhood. There was a look in George's eyes that he had never seen before. George had always been the calmer of the two, never exploding as fiercely as Fred had. He had always known when to draw the line, when enough was enough. That line no longer existed, because the line between grief and rage had been crossed.

This is the story of the night George Weasley saw red.

**(A/N) I have a habit of writing the 'this is the story…' bits, but I think it fits. Kinda. Review and tell me what you think! Flame if you like! All comments are welcome! It'll make my day!**


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